


The Two Bright Umbrellas Job

by crossroadswrite



Series: beAUtiful tropes (au-a-thon challenge) [12]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Leverage Fusion, Art Thief Stiles Stilinski, Criminal Stiles Stilinski, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Pining Derek Hale, Week 14, Week 15, a little bit, for like two seconds there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 02:42:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3834016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossroadswrite/pseuds/crossroadswrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Fuck his entire life.</em>
</p><p>Of course, of course the random beautiful man that happens to kiss the wits out of Derek is a wanted criminal. What is his life. How is this his life?</p><p>God, Laura is never going to let this one down.</p><p>(Or: The one that's a little bit like Leverage and where Stiles is a criminal Derek is not.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Two Bright Umbrellas Job

**Author's Note:**

> Based off the prompts:  
> [➥’it was raining so hard i wasn’t paying attention as i ran into the side of your car/you/your umbrella but we’re both drenched now also hey there’ au](http://puppetamateur.tumblr.com/post/93292699757/okay-but-consider-these-oh-my-god-im-so-sorry-my)  
> ➥’hey there it’s raining like shit can i offer you a ride under my umbrella’ au*

Derek glares at the downpour falling around him, completely unimpressed with it. He sighs a little, letting the universe know just how disappointed he is with it.

Figures it would rain on the day he decided to take his bike to work instead of his car. That’s just his life.

Laura used to make fun of him, say that he always had a stormy cloud trailing after him, hovering just above his head. Seems like whatever forces that might be decided to make a metaphor with something literal.

It’s not his fault that his sister’s overly cheery (and a little terrifying) personality had always been at odds with his; that where she was loud and obnoxious, he was quiet and judgmental; where she got all the boys to eat out of the palm of her hand, Derek got the probably clinically crazy women who wanted to murder him in his sleep.

 _Just figures_.

Such is his life.

And now his poor bike is going to be drenched and he’ll have to stoop so low as to call Laura to get him home if he doesn’t want to catch the cold of the century. Derek _hates_ being sick, despises it, loathes it. More so than he hates his sister’s mocking smile.

He could call Peter, but he sincerely does not have the patience to handle his uncle’s brand of psychotic.

So here he is. Walking. In the rain, with his cheerfully neon orange umbrella.

Derek’s so focused in the rain falling down around him and not slipping on the sidewalk that he completely misses the boy running in his direction, looking over his shoulder every five seconds and looking mildly panicked.

The boy doesn’t see Derek either because he crashes at full speed against his chest, and it’s in these times that Derek is thankful for working out because otherwise they’d both end up sprawled across the wet pavement.

He manages to throw out a hand to steady the boy – more of a man now that he looks closer, but just barely so – and himself, somehow accomplishing the feat of making both of them stay in under the same umbrella and on their feet.

“Oh, _shit_ ,”the man curses a little unoriginally.

Derek raises an eyebrow at him and drops his hand, stepping back a tiny fraction so there’s some space between them but the man is still under his umbrella.

He’s not a _complete_ asshole, regardless of what Cora keeps telling him. And Erica. And Isaac. And Boyd. Pretty much all of his friends tell him that but taking into account the fact that they’re assholes too, he can’t be too bothered.

The stranger’s mouth is hanging open a little as he eyes Derek up and down and it’s more than a little distracting.

Derek decides to mimic him, letting his eyes do the once over and maybe make him realize how uncomfortable that can be.

That doesn’t work for him in the least since he almost immediately gets lost in just how _gorgeous_ the man in front of him is. Wide amber eyes and a pink mouth, dropped open and panting, the pretty flush on his cheeks from exertion pointing out just how pale and probably easy to mark his skin his. His hair is dripping down his forehead, hanging limp and flat.

“Derek,” he decides to introduce himself, using as little words as possible, partially because that’s kind of how his speech pattern is and partially because he’s so stunned by the stranger in front of him that even if he tried to use more words he’d probably fail miserably.

The stranger blushes a little more and quirks his mouth, “I’m Stiles and I-“

Thundering footsteps and some yelling come from down the end of the street just past the corner and Stiles’ pretty amber eyes, framed by his particularly long eyelashes widen.

“-and I don’t have time for this. I’m _really, really_ sorry about this Derek. Feel free to punch me in the jugular afterwards,” he says hurriedly, glancing over his shoulder nervously.

“Wha-“

Stiles twists his long finger in his shirt and roughly pulls him in so his back is pressed against whatever building they’re standing next to wall and Derek is covering him completely from head to toe and oh those are lips on his lips.

Stiles is kissing him.

A complete stranger is kissing him and- and he’s really good at it.

Derek closes his eyes and slots their lips together, kissing him back slowly.

Stiles works a hand into his hair, breathes out a little sigh and licks Derek’s bottom lip, but it’s not a demand, it’s not even a question, just a quick dip for taste.

Derek mimics him; he’s powerless to do otherwise.

Not with those fingers scratching his scalp, a little cold and certainly leaving his hair damp but just the right pressure, just like he likes it.

Stiles is holding him tightly, a little desperately and Derek thinks it’s just unfair that he has to awkwardly clutch his umbrella and use the other hand to keep balance while Stiles has both hands free to use.

He’s faintly aware of the voices going past him yelling and splattering their way down the street.

Stiles twists his head around and Derek instinctively fits his lips on his neck, licking the droplets of rain there and sucking the skin into warmness, bringing the blood back to the surface until there’s a pretty mark there.

Stiles is still panting above him, doing these hitched little gasps that are just delicious and really it’s one of the prettiest things Derek has ever heard.

He’s confused as to why this is happening but he’s not complaining because he’s got a gorgeous man under him and it has just been so long since anything even remotely close to this happened.

Well, he wasn’t complaining until Stiles pushes cold fingers against his cheek, cradles it for a second sweeping his thumb and then pushes him back.

He winks suggestively, “This was great we should do it again.”

Derek blinks at him, wonders if he can steal one more kiss and ask for his number without sounding like a complete moron.

“Yeah,” he breathes out.

Stiles beams, “I really do have to run, though. But don’t worry, we’ll catch up again,” he pecks Derek on the cheek and breaks off running towards the other side of the sroad, jumping over the fence and cutting through the park.

Derek clutches his umbrella in his hand, “Okay,” he says, a little confused and most probably looking like a damsel in one of Dad’s trashy romance novels sighing after her knight.

He doesn’t really know how long he stands there like an idiot, looking after that strange man and clutching his hideous umbrella. So long the next thing he knows there’s two men in suits, drenched from head to toe and flipping FBI badges in his face like this is some FOX run to the ground show.

“Sir, have you seen this man. He’s a wanted fugitive for various crimes. It’s crucial that we get him.”

And then they pass Derek a soggy impression of a paper with Stiles’ mug shot on it, smiling cockily at the camera in challenge.

 _Fuck his entire life_.

Of course, of course the random beautiful man that happens to kiss the wits out of Derek is a wanted criminal. What is his life. How is this his life?

God, Laura is never going to let this one down.

“I think he went into that store,” he finds himself muttering, pointing at the little grocery shop a little ways down the street.

He’s going to go to jail for lying to cops. And he’s going to die there. Because that’s his life.

Mom will be so disappointed. Right after she laughs her ass off.

“Thank you, sir,” the two men nod, taking off towards the grocery store.

Derek gives up and just walks to his bike, figuring that he deserves the rain and any cold he might catch. He closes his ugly ass umbrella, shoves on his helmet a little too passive-aggressively and drives off the seven minute ride to his loft.

«»

He catches a cold because of course he does. And on top of the nasty cold he gets he also has Laura sitting on his back and bouncing until he tells her just exactly why he got a cold and what happened for him to be pinning like Romeo when his dick chose Juliet to be his one true boo.

Derek tells her, painstakingly, throat raspy and hurting. He tries not to wax too much poetry about Stiles’ _everything_ but if Laura’s face gives anything away while he recounts it to her is how miserably he’s failing at that.

She laughs her ass off when he finishes and immediately reaches for her phone to do a quick search of Stiles’ name on her iPhone, shoving it in front of Derek’s face even if he can’t really see it through his red rimmed bleary eyes.

“Laura,” he tries to admonish, his voice turning into something resembling a growl.

He _hates_ being sick.

“Come on, baby bro. This is _hilarious!_ And it’s not so bad, see. He’s just an art thief. Well, an expensive things thief. But see here, it says he only steals from very big, very bad corporations and is totally Robin Hoods about it.”

“Does not,” Derek mumbles, sniffling grossly into his pillow.

“Does too.”

Derek raises an eyebrow, “Really? They called him Robin Woods.”

Laura holds the phone defensively to her chest, “It was _implied_. Besides it could be worse!” she continues cheerfully.

“How?”

“He could be a psychotic murderer!”

 “Hilarious,” he cuts in flatly.

Laura gives him a shit-eating grin and throws some Kleenex at his face. That’s Hale love right there.

“Does this make you Lady Marianna then, Derrie?” she wiggles her eyebrows and laughs too loudly for the headache Derek’s currently sporting.

He has no qualms about throwing her right on the floor and watching her yelp indignantly.

Like he said: _Hale love._

«»

He absolutely doesn’t think about Stiles. He doesn’t think about his lips or his hands or the pleased little smile just after he kissed him.

Derek constantly reminds himself that Stiles was only using him to escape the police and he’d do best to just go to the cops and tell them what he knows, which is admittedly not much.

Instead he taps his pen against the pile of insurances he has to go over and wonders how Stile’s lips would feel on his again, maybe even wrapped around other places. What pretty sounds Derek could coach out of him if he just grabbed Stiles and pushed him up against a wall.

God, he’s _so fucked_.

«»

It’s raining again, because his life is just a big pissparty. And this time he doesn’t even have his fucking umbrella with him.

“Need a ride?” a cheery voice asks, holding up a bright red umbrella to him.

Derek scowls in the general direction of whomever it is who dared talk to him only to see Stiles grinning, an eyebrow lifted in invitation.

“You’re a criminal,” Derek tells him, because sometimes the obvious needs to be stated.

“So I’m a criminal,” he shrugs like he’s saying he prefers strawberry ice cream to cholcolate and not about how he likes to evade the law, “do you still want a ride?”

Derek looks at the way the rain is aggressively hitting the pavement and how safe and cozy under the too bright umbrella and by Stiles’ side seems.

He makes awful life decisions.

“Sure.”

Stiles beams brilliantly at him, invoking the image of the sun parting through storm clouds, and oh yes Derek is beyond fucked.

“So, _Derek_ ,” he rolls his name in his tongue like he’s talking about a particularly tasty desert, he says it like some people will say _yes_ just before a moan, “miss me?”

“Why would I miss the criminal that kissed me as a distraction while he was on the run from the police.”

Stiles grins and Derek sways a little closer to him. What? It’s raining, he just doesn’t want to get wet.

“That’s not a no.”

“It’s not a yes, either.”

Stiles laughs, the umbrella shaking with his mirth above them.

“You know, Lydia told me this would be a stupid thing to do. But you, Derek Hale, I _like_ you.”

Derek flushes at that, “You’ve met me all of twice now.”

“I’ve kissed you. You learn a lot by how a person kisses,” Stiles grins.

“That sounds like bullshit.”

Stiles shrugs, like even if it is, he can’t be too bothered by it, “May be. But the thing with kissing is that you can always tell if a person is into you. And you are _really_ into me.”

Derek considers the wisdom of saying something corny like _I’m not yet, but I could be_ and ultimately decides against it. Clearly he’s spent too long sharing spaces with Erica.

“What are you doing here?” he decides to ask. It’s a good distraction, and he’s curious to know just what exactly the likes of such a famous art thief is doing in back of nowhere talking to him.

“Here _here_ or here in Beacon Hills?”

“Either. Both.”

“Visiting family. Saying hi to the folks, all that fun stuff. As to here _here:_ meeting you, obviously.”

“Why?” They’ve stopped in front of Derek’s embarrassing mom car. He wishes he hadn’t let Aunt Lucy take his bike for a joy ride, even if it’s raining something awful.

“Like I said: you’re _really_ into me. And you’re cute,” Stiles drops his eyes to the floor, seeming a little uneasy, a little nervous “and I’ll need to lay low for a while, so I thought, hey why not do what normal human do for once and go on a date with a cute boy I met in the rain?”

Derek jingles his car keys in one hand, twirls them around his finger and catches Stiles staring.

“You want a date?”

“Yeah. If- if that’s okay with you?”

Derek smiles a little at the ground. This is a _terrible idea._ The worst he’s ever had.

“Okay. One date,” he agrees, watches in fascination as Stiles’ entire being opens up, smile tugging at the corner of his lips, eyes crinkling, a little spasm of his arm like an aborted move to fist pump, “Somewhere quiet, preferably. And if you could leave your cop buddies at home that’d also be preferable,” Derek continues.

Stiles snorts a laugh, rocking on the balls of his feet like an overexcited kid.

“Okay. I’ll call you, yeah?”

“You don’t have my number.”

“Yes I do.”

“That’s incredibly creepy.”

Stiles shrugs a little, looking almost honestly apologetic, “Lydia made Danny do a full background check on you before she even let me walk out the door.”

“Lydia sounds paranoid and terrifying.”

Stiles smiles fondly, “Oh she is. But it’s all in the name of the good cause, you know. She picked me off the streets back when I was conning big shots out of their money in Europe. I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

“Sounds fun,” Derek deadpans and Stiles answers with this twisted little grin.

“Oh it _was_.”

Derek opens the door of his car and gets in, “So, I’ll see you.”

Stiles bobs his head, “Definitely. See you around Derek,” his long fingers curl on top of the car door for support as he leans down and steals a quick chaste kiss out of Derek.

“It’s rude to kiss your date before the actual date,” he tells him, flushing a little.

Stiles winks, “I’m an art thief Derek. That’s what I do. Steal art and you are one of the finest pieces I’ve seen.”

Derek can’t help the little snort he gives just like he can’t help the way his ears burn three different shades of red.

“Goodbye, Stiles.”

“Bye, Derek,” Stiles says, still grinning like the sun, “Drive safe.”

Stiles’ long fingers push the door shut and Derek is left there, leaning against the seat and chastising himself a little for his life choices but never bringing himself to regret them. At least not _this_ one.

He might, later on. This could blow up in his face spectacularly but maybe it won’t.

Derek feels the need to state that he isn’t an optimist, not in the least. But still.

He sits there and watches Stiles walk away through the rearview mirror until Stiles isn’t anything but a distorted shape and bright flash of red in the horizon.

**Author's Note:**

> [come talk to me about the amazingness of criminal stiles?](http://crossroadswrite.tumblr.com)


End file.
